But A Dream
by licoricewolf
Summary: Not all dreams are good, but does that make the rest bad by default?


"Right this way, Miss Pleasance…"

Alice shivered a little; it was cold in Arkham Asylum. A small part in her mind hoped that Jervis had better heating in his room, or at least some nice blankets to curl up in. And then a bigger part of her hoped half-heartedly that his cell was the coldest in the asylum.

She glanced up at the guard leading her through the stony corridors. The asylum had very interesting architecture—half of it was the original castle-like structure and half was more modern, with security cameras and electrified floors. It reminded her of a haunted house she had once been to as a child, except with much less cobwebs and mirrors. She took another look at the walls around her and smiled sadly to herself. Arkham was definitely more haunted than anything she had ever been to.

The guard stopped at the beginning of the cell block, and Alice almost ran right into him. She was so petite that she barely came to his chest. She stumbled a little and looked up at him, brushing her blonde hair out of her face self-consciously.

She remembered having brown hair when she had first started working as Jervis's secretary. She was a natural blonde, but had dyed it in middle school so as to quell the steady stream of blonde jokes aimed her way. When she took up the secretary position, Jervis had made her feel so welcome, had been so kind… she finally felt confident enough to bleach her hair back to its natural color. She still remembered the look on his face when she came in to work that day—he almost looked horrified. But when she asked him if he liked it he beamed and told her it was gorgeous.

If she remembered correctly, she had been wearing a blue skirt that day.

"Are you sure you want to do this, ma'am?" the guard asked concernedly. He was heavyset, like most of the Arkham guards, with a clean-cut beard and no visible scars. He looked down at her with the concerned air of a parent whose daughter wants to get her ears pierced, not realizing the pain involved.

Alice pursed her lips for a moment, her brow knit in uncertainty. "Yes, I'm quite sure," she said timidly.

He raised his eyebrows and let out a breath. "You're one brave kid," he said, sounding unconvinced.

Alice nodded, not wanting her voice to betray her again. Never mind that her hands shook and her face was hot and she felt as though her stomach had suddenly vanished. She wasn't exactly scared, just shocked. She was doing it. She was talking to Jervis. After months and months of therapy—for both of them—would things be able to normal between them?

Could they be better than normal?

Did she want to find out?

Alice shook her head and squared her shoulders, taking a deep breath and holding it for a moment before letting it out. The guard led her down about halfway, passing several cells with varying degrees of personalization, until he stopped just outside the line of sight of their destination.

"Here you go," he said quietly. Alice clenched her hands to keep them from shaking any more. "I'll get you a chair, okay?" the guard said encouragingly. She nodded gratefully.

He returned in moments with a cheap folding metal chair. It grated when it was opened up, and it squeaked and groaned as she sat on it. She placed it directly in front of the cell and sat up straight, staring at the man inside. He was huddled on the cot, facing away from her and rocking back and forth ever so slightly.

This… this was _Jervis?_

She immediately felt terrible for any ill will she had borne him. She leaned forward a little, as though to reach out and take his hand, and said softly, "Mr. Tetch?"

There was no reaction.

"Mr. Tetch?" She glanced around, feeling self-conscious, and murmured slowly, "… Jervis?"

He spun around on the cot, staring at her with his wide blue eyes. She bit her lip. He was much more frightening to look at than she had expected—his dirty-blonde hair was disheveled, his uniform was rumpled, and his fingernails were ragged and grubby. He grinned, not the fatherly smile she had seen before, but a wide Cheshire beam that displayed his large, yellowing teeth. She gasped involuntarily.

"Jervis!" she breathed. "What have they _done_ to you?"

"They've done nothing, my dear," he said happily. He wiggled his toes. "Oh, the good Queen's soldiers, they do what they're told and they don't like to scold and they treat us like mold." His smile faded and his eyes grew wide as his rhyme finished. His shoulders slumped.

Alice simply looked at him in shock. "But…" she said. "But—aren't they supposed to be helping you get back outside? Instead of keeping you in here like a prison?" She could see the dilapidated state of his cell, the grungy walls and the deflated mattress. There were no windows and his blankets didn't quite cover the heavy leather straps on the sides of the cot. It was the least conducive to mental health area she had ever seen.

"No, no, no, Alice, dear, I quite like it here," he said, and although his smile had returned, it was strained. "I get to have tea parties all the time and I've got all the guests here, let's see, there's the Doormouse—" he looked down and took his chin in one hand, gesturing vaguely with the other. "There's the Doormouse, the March Hare, the Cheshire Cat—"

"Oh, Jervis," she murmured sadly. His face snapped up as he heard his name, like a rabbit that hears a gunshot.

"All except for you, Alice," he said, his blue eyes boring into her.

She drew back in the chair a little. "No, Jervis, I don't belong in here," she said.

He grinned again. "Oh, pish posh, you'd have to be mad, or else you wouldn't have come here!"

"I'm not mad, and I'm not _mad_," she said, a little more harshly than she had intended. She hated it when he tricked her into talking like that. "I just wanted to see how you were doing."

"We're all mad here, Alice," he said. Apparently, he hadn't heard a word of what she had said. "I'm mad, you're mad, the Doormouse and the March Hare and the doctors and the guards are mad—" He broke off into frightened giggles, his blue eyes darting around the cell block as though the Queen of Hearts herself were watching him.

Alice watched him sadly. She had looked up to him, she had cared about him, she had typed up his notes and she had made him tea and she had smiled when he told her that she looked nice as a blonde. She shut her eyes tightly and clenched her fingers on the hem of her shirt for a moment before she flew out of the chair.

"I have to go, Mr. Tetch, "she said tersely. She snatched her purse and her coat and began to walk away swiftly.

"A-Alice?" she heard him say, a frantic edge in his voice. "Alice, where are you—? Dear, no, no, that's the wrong way, you're going the wrong way—you're going to be late—"

She ignored him and quickened her pace. His protests flickered like a candle before he fell silent entirely. She wasn't his Alice, she wasn't the little girl in the blue frock who walked among mad people. Perhaps she had been once, for a brief amount of time, and it had not been unpleasant—but it was over now, whatever it was. She was engaged, for God's sake.

Wait, no, she wasn't. She had broken off the engagement. Because she wanted space.

Alice shook her head to clear her thoughts. She wanted to go home and have a nice warm cup of tea. Her memories of Jervis were brief and muddled and they made her feel miserable, although she didn't know why. It was like trying to recall a dream.

But she had read _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_ at his insistence, and she knew that it was all merely a dream anyway. And Alice always woke up in the end.


End file.
